by Joan Smith
Smythe shook his head. “Told you, a bit of a dasher. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”
“This helps solve the question of Snoad,” Mrs. Lovatt said in satisfaction. “Fairfield will take whatever stock is worth anything, and we’ll release the rest of them.”
“I told him he might come the day after tomorrow, Auntie,” I said. “Do you think it too early?”
“Your notices will be in the journals tomorrow,” Bunny reminded us. I had forgotten all about them.
“We can have Soames forward any replies to Gracefield,” my aunt said. I took it for approval of any early departure. “I am ready to go now. We know what Harold was doing here. Visiting that vulgar hussy. And if he had his fingers into anything else, I don’t want to hear any more about it. It is over and done with. We shall leave tomorrow morning. I’m going to retire now. Don’t feel you must rush off, Mr. Smythe. You and Heather might want to order some tea later. I cannot take tea before retiring or I am awake all night.”
After she was gone, I said, “Perhaps we should remain longer. I feel there is more we could discover here, if we stayed another day.”
“She’s right. Leads have run out. Our best hope of learning more is to write to Depew and demand a full explanation. About that tea ...”
I summoned a servant. Fifteen minutes later, there was a tap at the door. The waiter entered, and behind him followed Sir Chauncey Depew.
Until the servant left, the conversation was of a harmless, social sort. As soon as the door closed behind the waiter, Depew leaned forward eagerly in his chair and said, “Did Fairfield visit you a short while ago, Miss Hume?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I’ve been watching him.”
“From where?” Smythe asked. “Spent the afternoon looking for you. Wasn’t registered at any of the hotels.”
“I am at the Norfolk. I use the name Mr. Martin when I am working on secret matters.”
“I knew it!” Smythe exclaimed. “They are the prince’s buttons.”
Depew glanced at his jacket and gave a tsk of dismay. “You are quick to have recognized them, Mr. Smythe. I should not have worn this jacket, but I spilt wine on the only other one I had with me. It is true, I am with the Horse Guards.”
“Why was you following Fairfield?” Smythe asked. I listened with my heart in my throat. If Fairfield was an enemy agent, I felt the world had ceased to make sense.
“He is under surveillance,” Depew answered cryptically. “I’m not accusing the man of anything, mind. I am just watching him.”
“What had he to do with my father’s death?” I asked.
“Perhaps nothing. That is precisely what I am trying to discover. I only know that he was here, at this hotel in Brighton, the evening your father was killed. He is usually short of funds, and might have decided to earn some blunt by giving the French a hand.”
“There must have been dozens of people here,” I pointed out. “Fairfield follows the pigeon races. That would explain his presence.”
“Do they race pigeons from Brighton?” Depew asked, frowning. Neither Smythe nor I actually knew this for a fact, so we said nothing. “Those dozens of others did not return later and ask specifically for this suite,” Depew continued.
“You think he was looking for something?” I asked.
“It is a possibility.”
“Why was Papa’s body spirited off to London? I know he had something to do with spying, so you need not hesitate to tell me on that account.”
“So you have figured that out,” he said with a worried look. “You are too clever by half! It is true, your father was handling a job for us.”
“I see.” Though my words were calm, I was delighted and vastly relieved to hear this piece of news.
“No need to go into details. I daresay you have an inkling as to what he was about. As he was a member of the pigeon fanciers’ club and went regularly to London on that business, we decided it would cause less curiosity if he simply let the family believe he was visiting London, but came to Brighton instead.”
“Would it not have been more convenient for him to work with you in London?” I asked.
“More convenient, but less private. The place is swarming with spies. Your father’s—er—lady friend made a good excuse for his visits here.”
“Who was it paid for his room?” Smythe asked.
“That was all arranged by London. Our higher class of assistants do not usually accept financial remuneration, but as they are working for us, we treat them a little lavishly.”
“I am so glad he was a good spy,” I said, inadvertently revealing my fears. “I do not feel so badly about his death, knowing he died in the service of his country.”
Depew looked at me as if I were mad. “You cannot have thought Harold Hume was working for the enemy! Good God, he was up for a knighthood! The only delay was in trying to find a suitable pretext for it. We thought perhaps that pigeon strain he bred might provide the excuse, but Lord Castlereagh feared it was a trifle thin. We do not wish to attract any undue attention to him at this time.”
“Papa a knight!”
“Perhaps even a baronet,” Depew said, nodding wisely. “After the war, of course, when his courage and wisdom could be revealed.”
“Could it be done posthumously?” I asked eagerly.
Depew thought about it for a moment. “I’ll mention it to Castlereagh. He is the one who traffics in that sort of thing.”
“The thing that puzzles me,” Smythe said, “where was Mr. Hume done in? Didn’t see no blood in the room. Seems no one heard the shot. Demmed odd. Soames told us the hotel’s version. A bag of moonshine, I expect.”
“It happened here, in this room,” Depew said. “We changed the carpet, and put about that the shot was a water jug falling.”
“Soames, the clerk here, says you wasn’t around, Sir Chauncey,” Bunny said, wearing a clever face.
“Naturally a man at my level must never reveal his identity. My men handled the details—not very satisfactorily, I might add. Sending Mr. Hume’s clothing home! What a debacle! But that is the way. Impossible to find competent help.”
Bunny looked interested. “Glad to give you a hand, Sir Chauncey. Any time.”
There was still one major point that I wished to ascertain. “Who killed my father?” I asked.
Depew just shook his head in frustration. “I cannot put a name on him, Miss Hume. There are dozens of spies in Brighton. The French tumbled to it somehow that we were using your father’s birds to carry messages. We have a postal system set up with relay points between here and Spain and Portugal. It’s faster than sending a man by boat. The foreign birds are shipped to England, and our birds shipped abroad, to bring home news. When urgent word must be sent either way, we use the pigeons. Your father was bringing me a message the day he was killed. I never received it.”
“So that’s what you’re looking for,” Bunny exclaimed. “Told you they was looking for something, Heather.”
“Did my father have the message on him? As the birds were stolen, too, I wondered if he left the message on the bird.”
“Oh no, he carried it on his person. We searched him as soon as we found the body. We searched his room. We had his luggage and carriage taken to London. Our experts went over them with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing. Of course, the French wouldn’t know where he carried the message. The birds were the only thing they could readily get their hands on. As they stole the bird cage, I have some hope they did not recover the message from the body before we arrived. In the excitement, we did not think of the bird cage for over an hour. By then, it was gone. But I cannot think your father left the message in an untended cage in the stable.”
“The Frenchies got it off his body then,” Smythe said. “Pity. Took the bird cage to fool you.”
“It looks that way,” Depew agreed, “unless Mr. Hume had concealed it in the room. I’ve searched a dozen times. Hope springs eternal....”
“We lo
oked, too. Course, we didn’t know what we was looking for,” Bunny said. “I found this.” He drew out the feather.
Depew just glanced at it, then turned to me. “Our room was searched this afternoon while we were out,” I told him. “By someone who had my father’s key.” His eyes lit up like a lantern. “Do you think— Fairfield?”
“I was watching him myself. He could have used one of his men, I suppose.” He immediately switched to another topic. “One thing that bothers me, Miss Hume, is this Snoad fellow you mention. We did not realize your father had an assistant.”
“Yes, Snoad is aware of everything that goes on in the roost. He practically lives there. I find it hard to believe Papa was sending and receiving messages without Snoad’s being aware of it.”
Depew narrowed his eyes in concentration. “That could explain it—how the Frenchies discovered your father was working with us. Snoad could be the leak. What do you know of him?”
“He used to work for the Duchess of Prescott, with her pigeons,” I said. “Do you think he was helping the French?”
“I never like to accuse a man without proof, but on the other hand, I must examine all possibilities. There must be some reason the duchess turned him off.”
“He said it was lung trouble. The doctor recommended sea air. You could write to the duchess.”
“I shall. Snoad must be vetted. I’ll get on to it at once.”
“As you are also keeping an eye on Lord Fairfield,” I said, hating to have to say it, “I must tell you, Fairfield is going to Hythe to speak to Snoad the day after tomorrow.”
Depew’s brows drew together, giving him somewhat the air of an owl. “I see! It is beginning to look black. They must be working together. I must go to Hythe, too,” he said.
“To Gracefield?” Bunny asked.
“No, I must play a slier game than that, in case they know me by sight. I’ll put up at the inn, but we must keep in close contact. I would prefer that they not know I am in the vicinity. I need eyes and ears working for me at Gracefield. It goes against the grain to enlist civilians, but would it be possible for you to keep me informed, Miss Hume? You could send word to Mr. Martin at the inn if anything unusual occurs. If a pigeon comes in with a message, or—”
“How would I know? Pigeons are coming and going all day. Snoad trains them, you see. They have to be exercized to keep in shape.”
“It is a thorny problem,” Depew said, shaking his head. “What we have to watch is what they do with any messages that are received. That means keeping a watch on Snoad and Fairfield. I’ll have men posted about to follow them if they leave. It would help if you could loiter about the loft as much as possible. Just keep your eyes and ears open. You might happen to be there when a message comes in.”
“How is it carried? How would I recognize it?”
“It would be in a specially designed capsule, attached to the bird’s leg, most probably. Sometimes it is on the back. Send word to me at once if that occurs. And have a snoop around both their rooms, if you would be so kind.”
“Oh dear!” I said. The prospect of snooping through a guest’s room, especially a guest like Fairfield, was horrid.
“Think of your father, Miss Hume,” he said, and skewered me with a commanding look. “Think of England,” he added. The insignificant Depew took on a sort of noble air when he spoke of England in that way.
“Of course,” I said.
“Me, too!” Bunny threw in. “I’m good at loitering.”
“I shall need all the help I can get,” Depew said, smiling his approval.
“What are we looking for?” I asked.
“Anything suspicious. A message, perhaps written in French or Spanish. A little black book. And do you think, ma’am—we might keep it from your aunt? The fewer who know of it, the better. Naturally the entire project is not to be breathed to a soul. Elderly ladies are inclined to chatter. One word in the wrong direction could cost hundreds of lives.”
Auntie was not a gossip, but I agreed without question. I felt honored to be involved in such weighty matters. The fate of England might rest, to some degree, on my wits. I had one further point to raise.
“The thing is, Sir Chauncey, my aunt had decided to turn Snoad off almost immediately. We planned to get rid of the pigeons, you see.”
“You must talk her out of it! I want Snoad where I can watch him. If he leaves, God only knows where he will go, or what harm he will do. You must not reveal to him that he is under the slightest suspicion. Behave in a perfectly normal way.”
“I never had much to do with him,” I said.
“No need to change that. You are the owner of Gracefield. He cannot object if you decide to take an interest in your own birds, and spend some time at the loft without making a bosom bow of him.”
Truth to tell, it was not his objections I was worried about, but his turning amorous on me if I suddenly began frequenting the loft. There was a certain physical attraction between us, and the projected change in my behavior might mislead him.
“I’ll be there if he tries to cut up rusty,” Bunny said.
“Yes, you must spend a good deal of time at Gracefield,” I said. “Though how I am to explain all these changes to my aunt if she is not to know the whole ...”
Depew frowned in confusion. “Are you not the mistress of Gracefield, now that your father is dead, Miss Hume? Surely it is for you to make the rules, and your aunt to do as you say, or leave.”
“Ye-e-e-s,” I said uncertainly. “But Aunt Lovatt is like a second mother to me. I could not offend her.”
“It won’t be for long,” Depew said. “I’ll have this little bundle tied up in a day or two, and then you can explain everything to your aunt. Considering the importance of the matter, I do not see what else we can do.”
“You’re right, of course. And after all this is over, Sir Chauncey, if you would like to appoint a new man to handle the roost, I would be perfectly agreeable for the government to continue using Gracefield as a link in the relay system to our troops in Spain and Portugal.”
“Excellent! Excellent,” he said, and patted my hand.
He left, with smiles all around. When he was gone, Bunny and I just looked at each other, unable to grasp the enormity of what we had tumbled into.
“We’re spies!” Bunny squealed, and threw a cushion into the air in excitement.
“Hush! Auntie will hear you.”
“Remember to keep mum,” he cautioned. “Whatever you say to your aunt, say nothing.”
Never did anyone look less like a spy than Bunny Smythe, unless it might be Miss Hume.
Chapter Seven
My aunt had dozed off by the time I went into the bedroom. The box of sleeping powders on her bedside table told me that my great news, the part of it I could tell her, must wait till morning. As I lay in bed, the peaceful sound of her deep breaths was a counterpoint to the beating of my heart. I was so thrilled with excitement that I forgot the cause of it at first—Papa’s death. But a hero’s death was different from a meaningless or even shameful shot in the back. I could accept it. If death should likewise come to me in the course of action, I should not feel my life had been in vain. It was a long time before I slept.
I told my aunt the news as soon as she awoke the next morning. “Did I hear Depew’s voice, just before I dropped off to sleep?” she asked, drawing back the counterpane.
“Yes, he called. Auntie, you may stop worrying. Papa worked for Sir Chauncey.”
Her face drained of color, then turned bright pink with joy. “Thank God! It’s been preying on my mind so. I had to take a powder last night, for I knew I would not shut an eye. My head was aching in three places.” This was a headache of major proportions. Auntie’s headaches are usually limited to her two temples. Only at times of deep distress does an ache also invade her inner skull. She eagerly demanded details, and while we dressed, I told her all I could remember.
She listened closely, then said, “Harold led us around like a
pair of blind ewes, Heather. And to think how often he complimented me that I could see through a double hedge when it came to sly dealings.”
I felt a little tremor at my ability to mislead her, but she rattled on. “I think he might have trusted us. I was right about Snoad. We’ll give that jackanapes his walking papers the minute we reach home. I never could understand his willingness to settle in a one-eyed little place like Gracefield, when he was used to living in a castle.”
Depew wished Snoad to remain. Already my difficulties were beginning, but I would take them one step at a time. “You forget, Lord Fairfield wishes to speak to him. He is not coming until tomorrow. We must let Snoad remain a few days, until we see the flock safely disposed. Lord Fairfield made quite a point of their value.”
“Quite right. You’ll want to warn Fairfield to be wary of Snoad.”
“Good gracious, that is not necessary. What has Fairfield to do with spying? Let us make the visit as pleasant as possible, and not disturb him with thoughts of enemy agents in the house.” My beautiful Lord Fairfield—it caused a wrench to have to put him under suspicion. But perhaps he was innocent. Depew had not said for certain that he was guilty.
“It would be a pity to show Lord Fairfield a bad visit,” she said. “We’ll have to keep an eye on the loft, though. A message might come in from Wellington while Snoad is there alone. That could be fatal to the war.”
I had not expected this unwitting assistance from Mrs. Lovatt, but talked up her idea of spending time in the loft as an absolute necessity. “Bunny will help us,” I said. “And we could have Snoad followed if he leaves. In case he is taking a message to someone, you know.”
“Use your wits, Heather,” she said curtly. “He would not take it. He would send it by one of the pigeons.”
“Oh! I never thought of that!” Nor had Depew. I had inexperience for an excuse, and wondered that Depew was unaware of that possibility. I must warn him of this new problem.
